Page 64 of Hunter Moon

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Give me everything.”

And then he grabbed my hands again, twined our fingers together and used them to pull me down against him. It felt like I was holding him down, and it was the last position I’d have chosen, but he pushed up into me, hard and demanding and—I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him what he could and couldn’t handle.

So I drove into him, sheathing my length in his warm, welcoming heat. For the first time, he broke eye contact, because his head fell back, his mouth open, and he gave the filthiest moan I’d ever heard from those sweet lips.

Fuck, how was he hotter than he’d been in our twenties?

He ground his ass against me, so I obliged, pulling out and then shoving back in, and again, and again, when he reacted just as deliciously, moaning and writhing against me, eyes rolled back and cock twitching against my belly.

I leaned my face down next to his as I pistoned into him, and since his eyes weren’t on me, figured it was good to remind him once again. “Missed you, baby. Missed this. God, you’re so perfect. So fucking hot. Nothing was ever right without you.”

His whimper, the way he arched against me, I almost didn’t need the feel of wetness against my belly to know he’d come.

I slowed my hips, looking down at him, worrying my lip with my teeth. This was about him, not about me getting off. Not about me at all. It was about Brook and his heat and—

His eyes shot open, then narrowed at me. “I swear to God, Asp, if you don’t fucking knot me, I’m going to find something to throw at you.”

And that was almost all it took, his sex-wrecked voice, demanding my knot. The tingle of it starting to swell at the base of my cock was all the warning I was getting, so I thrust back into him, eliciting another dark, heavy moan. I fucked into him again and again, until my knot caught on his rim and finally held, pushing in one last time, pressing our foreheads together as the wave of sensation and emotion crested in me, staring into the crystal-blue eyes that I’d spent a decade only dreaming about.

How had I survived without this, without Brook, for so long?

I rolled onto my back so he wasn’t pinned down by my bulk while we were tied together, and pulled him against my chest, cradling his head there and running my fingers through his hair and down his back.

The waves of intensity from him ebbed, stopped altogether as he lay against me, the heat momentarily sated, and his body allowed him to rest. Hopefully it would be enough to see him through the next wave.

40

Brook

Iwas shattered. Somehow, I’d thought video games and television and hot tea would be enough to get me through my heat. I’d survived before, but I hadn’t been prepared this time.

And you know what? That was fine. Because when I needed him, Aspen came. If I felt like I’d been blown into little pieces, he was there with me, his arms spread wide to capture every tiny fragment and keep me whole.

The room was quiet, just the sound of Aspen’s slow, steady breathing while I rested my head on his chest. Idly, I traced my fingers over his bare arm, the tattoos that I hadn’t seen before. Now, I had the chance to inspect them up close, at my leisure, so long as Aspen’s eyes remained closed and his body languid against mine.

On the arm he’d wrapped around me there was an anchor, a rope, there to remind me that for the last ten years, he’d belonged to someone else—or, well, something else. Aspen the person was all mine.

That wasn’t the arm I was most interested in. Instead, I dragged my fingertips down a lighthouse on his far shoulder, tracing the edge of it, hopping with my pointer between the birds that flew beneath, toward the crux of his elbow.

Aspen’s chest rumbled under my ear. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

I laughed, turning my head to press a kiss into the hollow of his solar plexus, grinning against his skin. “You didn’t have this last time.”

The birds, I’d been there for. I’d sat right beside him in the tattoo parlor as Aspen pulled his sleeve back on skin his father was sure to see. It’d been an act of rebellion, and I’d watched him clench his jaw against the pain, seen his face go red as he swallowed it down.

Then, later, once he’d healed, I’d tasted each of those birds, told him they were beautiful.

Aspen’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at me and bit his lip. “Too much change?”

I shook my head, pushing up on one arm so I could see more of him. “Just more to learn.”

I sat all the way up, kneeling over his shin, one knee on either side of his leg. Those tattoos on his arms weren’t the only ones on his body. He had a few on his thighs, an octopus on his calf that looked especially menacing.

“So that one’s to guide you home when you’re out at sea.” I nodded to his lighthouse. “The bird’s all about taking wing and getting the hell out of here.”

“Brook.” He wore a scowl then, his brow lightly furrowed. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” I said, leaning down and cutting him off with a soft kiss. “I’m just kidding.”

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